


A Misunderstanding Before Christmas

by MedeaV



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: And I mean idiots, Avengers Tower, Ballet, Christmas Fluff, Dancing, F/M, Idiots in Love, Nat is slightly paranoid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28676964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MedeaV/pseuds/MedeaV
Summary: As Natasha uses her spy skills to find the perfect Christmas gift for new Avengers recruit Bucky, she discovers he appears to be very interested in her and concludes flawlessly that he wants to kill her. Meanwhile, Bucky is looking for an opportunity and the courage to apologize to Natasha for shooting her but when he sees her dance in the gym, he realizes he has a lot more to confess. Things come to a head at the Avengers Christmas party.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40
Collections: BuckyNat Secret Santa 2020





	A Misunderstanding Before Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stillgirlfrommars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillgirlfrommars/gifts).



> Combining three prompts: Nat using her spy skills to find Christmas presents and ending up finding out more about Bucky, Bucky watching Nat dance the Nutcracker & Bucky and Nat finally getting closer at Tony's Christmas party.  
> Set somewhere after CATWS where Bucky has joined the original Avengers in their tower (tower fic, anyone?).

Natasha knows Barnes has a secret and this Christmas, she's going to find out.

Clint said she was just looking for a reason to hate him because she already didn't like him but that's not true. When Barnes first came here, she was ready to embrace him with open arms. Sure, he tried to kill her (twice, not that she's counting) but he was brainwashed and that seems like a valid excuse. Steve trusted him and Steve's her friend, so she was willing to extend a hand. It was going to be his first Christmas with the team, probably his first real Christmas in forever, and she was going to do everything (in the background, of course, she's not a flashy person) to make sure he got the best holidays he could possibly have.

But.

Every year, she uses all her Red Room and SHIELD training and her innate spy instincts to get every single one of her teammates the perfect Christmas gift they never even knew they wanted. She doesn't tell them how she knows, of course, people tend to get angry when they find out you went through their search history and interrogated their friends and retraced their steps throughout the year. She thinks they kind of know, though. Steve's face when he unwrapped the ridiculously expensive wok set he's stared at for almost ten minutes in March before presumably deciding they were too fanciful. Tony's face when he saw the first edition of the Mexican children's book his nanny used to read him when his parents didn't want to bother. Clint's face when she found the cheesy Robin Hood watch for him.

She doesn't know particularly much about Barnes' interests (she supposes he doesn't either) so that just meant more research. And… it's unsettling. He googled her  _ 43  _ times, in the past month alone. He's spent literal days going through her SHIELD files. His movement through the tower traces hers. She never realized he always turned up in the gym when she was there, that he came into the kitchen when she grabbed a bowl of cereal or some fruit, and that he often peeked in on movie nights she had with Clint or Bruce but never showed himself. He's even been in the hallway in front of the door to her room, the only room on the floor, in the middle of several nights. In her line of work, that only ever means one thing.

He wants to kill her.

She's not sure whether it's a conscious thing for him or just some leftover programming, to finish the mission, finish her off. Or maybe he's hiding something even bigger and he needs to make sure she doesn't find out before he gets the chance to strike. Maybe he's just confused. In any case, he's obsessed with her and that's not a good thing coming from one of the most dangerous assassins alive.

She even gives him the chance to explain (without making it clear she knows, of course). While they do their collective Christmas baking, she throws around references to missions from her SHIELD file, Budapest and the likes. His face merely goes blank, pretending not to know. That's the face of a killer if she's ever seen one. She supports Tony's suggestion of the Manchurian Candidate for their Friday movie night. She jokes about how he could all kill them with the kitchen knife he's cutting carrots with and he only mumbles and generally looks uncomfortable.

She's almost sure he's a Hydra double agent. And she's going to get him, this Christmas.

First step is not letting him out of her sight. Not give him the chance to do whatever he's here to do. Keep track of where he goes, what he does, who he talks to. Learn as much as she can and minimize the potential damage. She's not going to wake up to find out he murdered all her teammates just because she took her eyes off him.

Of course, that doesn't mean she can be alone with him or he'd have the opportunity to take out the one person who's on to him. She tries to carefully suggest her suspicion to the others but those trusting good-hearted idiots do not want to hear it. Steve merely gets a very pained expression and offers his understanding that she has difficulty accepting- when that's really not the point. No, she's not paranoid. She just cares about being alive. And about her friends being alive.

Second step, get more information. She breaks into his room, goes through his gym locker, hacks his phone (which is harder than it should be, also suspicious). His room is very orderly, which makes it easy to find the Beretta taped under his nightstand. There's a knife in the back of his locker. He has actual photos of her on his phone. Yeah, that goes together well.

He gives her strange looks sometimes, when she slides up to him, always in full view of others. She's acting suspiciously but there's just no way around it without immense risks. Even if he's on to her, if he finds out that she's seen through him, the best course of action is just not giving him any openings, any opportunities. Don't let him out of her sight. Always know where he is, who he's with. Don't let him be alone with someone he could easily overpower, like Clint or Tony. He could probably take Steve by surprise, because Steve is a dewy-eyed idiot around him, but they're too close and she can't constantly insert herself. Though she tries.

Third step, she needs to find out how to actually tackle him. Knowing he's plotting to kill her doesn't help anything if she can't stop him. She needs to find out how to disable his metal arm, the rest is doable. She's watched him train, knows his movements, if she takes the metal arm out of the equation, she could take him on. For a while, she considers sparring with him but that'd give him an opportunity to kill her and make it look like an accident. She's told the others enough that they would realize what's actually happened, at least Tony and Clint, but he doesn't know that so he might just go for it. And she actually likes her life. Besides, he blushes every time he notices her looking at him in the gym, he might just turn her down anyway. Definitely has something to hide.

Of course, Tony has already developed something that attaches to the metal arm and disables it. Just in case. Her metal disks are nice but they just don't last long enough. So all she has to do is convince Tony that she's the absolutely last person who would hesitate before pulling the trigger.

"Have you considered that maybe, there's a completely innocent explanation for all of this?" Tony suggests with amusement.

There isn't, though. She's not going to give him the benefit of the doubt until he snaps her neck. The others may not understand that but she's been in the Red Room, been around others of her kind, and the surest way to get killed is to see them as anything other than assassins who'd tear you down at the first chance. No matter how nice they pretend to be.

* * *

She absolutely confuses him. Everything she does is so smooth and poised but the reasoning behind it is impenetrable. She was nice at first, though always on her toes. Different from the others. Something about her speaks to him. He looks her up, casually, just knowing who he's around - and it's very much like looking in a mirror. She's killed plenty of people, good people. She's been brainwashed, trained, molded into something inhuman. She served other people's interests, didn't really care what she did or to whom, and then somehow, in an incredible feat, she changed course, turned her life around, became something else, someone else. It fascinates him. He keeps finding new details, reads detailed descriptions of maimed corpses, people who hunted her and utterly failed, the one guy who didn't. That's what's beneath her surface, the thing that spoke to him, the sharp edges behind her smooth smirk and the fluffy socks.

Then she starts making crude jokes. He tries his damnedest not to react when she makes weird references to missions she had, jokes about his brainwashing or that he could probably kill a bunch of them. He comes to the conclusion she's testing him, poking him and waiting whether he snaps, so he tries his best to keep it together and not react.

He'd actually like to tell her that he's sorry, ever since he read about Odessa - well, he already knew that he shot her, in D.C., but doing it twice makes it worse. How she can just be around him, be nice to him when all he ever did was hurt her, it baffles him. He's wanted to apologize to her so many times, waiting to catch her alone when she's with the others, standing in front of her door at night when he really can't get it out of his head, following her to the gym. Somehow, he never got a word out. He doesn't know why it's so hard, it was never like this with Steve or with anyone else. She's a different beast. But actually, hanging around her, spending time with her, that's nice even if he hasn't worked his guilt out yet. He feels comfortable around her.

She seems to like him well enough, too. Starts hanging out with him more, though somehow always with others. Well, he can't say he's disappointed at the excuse to push the apologizing off for now. He notices her staring at him around the tower, most intensely in the gym. Sends a shudder down his spine. Is he- he really can't get a read on her. He stares at her picture on his phone as if that would help, even tries to say sorry to her image, to work up the courage - but then she's standing in the kitchen on one leg, feet bare, stuffing a strawberry into her mouth instead of cutting it up, turning her head to raise an eyebrow at him, and he really can't get a word out. She laughs him off, snagging another strawberry that was meant for dessert, and that's okay, too, better, actually, except for the sick feeling it plants in his stomach.

He's surprised at how often she slides up to him, actively seeks him out. Maybe that's her way of helping him settle in. He really can't get a read on her, but maybe that's better than the other way around, if he foolishly believed to know what the world-famous spy was up to. He still thinks she's assessing him so he acts as normal as he can.

Steve eventually tells him she argued fervently against him going on missions and he's a little shocked. He thought he was doing okay at least, he hasn't freaked out in months, the nightmares are receding, he actually feels human at least some hours of some days. But maybe that's just not enough. Steve is slightly pissed at her, saying she's paranoid, but he rather has the feeling if she sees something in him that's not okay, she's probably right. He tries not to dwell on it, act normal around her. Getting mad because she evaluates him a certain way is proving her exactly right and only making things worse. Better earn her trust, because she'll only trust him when he deserves it.

He goes into the gym one evening, around nine when she's usually there with Barton, no one else, but this time, he hears music. Classical music, not the usual thumps and beats he doesn't really like. Maybe he should just turn around, he'd already said he was going to his room for the night but it was so quiet up there and he couldn't help but flee down here, flee from his own mind, and now the music, the mystery draws him in-

He cracks the door open a few inches.

Much of the equipment has been pushed out of the way, towards the walls, leaving a big empty space in the middle of the gym. No mats, they must be somewhere in a corner. He's staring at the big mirror wall, the angle meaning he can see almost everything. Her.

She's in a black - leotard, that must be the word, black pointe shoes, red hair in a perfectly neat bun. She's up on her right toes, facing away from him, arms to the side, left leg striking up, then twirling, another strike, another twirl, arrives in the middle with her feet crossed, arms up for just a blink. Her leg strikes out again and she tiptoes around, outer leg up, toes barely touching the ground by the looks of it, arriving at the corner where he can't quite see her. Suddenly, her leg strikes up all the way, hitting a dark tone in the music, and his insides coil as the music rises and she comes back into view, right knee slightly bent and turning in a weird hopping fashion, her leg strikes up with the next dark note, she twirls one, two, three times, maybe more, and then another weird crooked one when the music drops, slowly moving back towards center. Another strike, she twirls on one leg, another dark note, another twirl, another strike, she steps forward out of the turn into a- he doesn't know anything about ballet but he knows this shape, left foot at the right knee, fingers touching overhead, on her right toes, spinning like a ballerina in a jewelry box, over and over and over again. Then her left toes touch the floor as well but she spins on, like a snowflake in the wind, drop of water from a fountain, tiptoes out of his sight again. The music chimes, up and down, and he waits with anticipation. She's still away as the central motive chimes again, the first thing he sees of her the tips of her extended fingers, and then she dances through again, her left foot twitching against her calf in perfect unison with the bell-like noises, twirls, other foot twitching against the other calf, another turn, another step. She ends with a twirl, arms coming out, head tilted elegantly. She's not even paying attention to anything else.

This time, he sees the full movement, toes pointedly touching the floor at different angles, each one a high note, then she changes legs, foot fluttering against her calf three times, turn, flutter, turn, flutter, arriving in stillness at the front edge of the room, his heart stops when he thinks she's going to turn her head-

But she dances on, face in his direction, and he realizes her eyes are  _ closed _ , which baffles him, the sheer balance of- She leans forward, lifting her back leg, then tiptoes across the stage rapidly, another leg lift, by the third one he can smell her sweat and she runs all the way into the corner, her back to him, striking a pose for just a second of respite, and then she's suddenly twirling parallel to the mirror, like she’s pulled down a string, the steps too fast to make out, she's in the back edge, still spinning across the whole back end of the room, out of vision- she's in front of him again, still twirling at a dangerous speed, in the other front corner in no time, and then she-

The music plings to a stop and she lands in the final pose with ease, left arm up, right arm extended to the side, right knee bent, left leg extended, breathing hard but grinning in the mirror like a child on sugar shock, and then her head turns slightly and her eyes meet him through the mirror, narrowing but not a bit of surprise-

He yanks the door shut, blushing like crazy, warm all over, stomach twisting like after a ton of sweets and he knows that feeling, recognizes it- he leans his back against the door, breathing, head dropping back, eyes closed. Fuck. He's going to have even more confessions to make.

* * *

She likes sleeping in after missions. There’s always some ailment, something pulled or twisted or just exhausted, and it’s nice to take the time, to  _ have  _ the time to recuperate, to give back after demanding so much of her body. So she sleeps in, stays in her nice comfy bed until noon, at best going to the bathroom and then straight back to bed, the sheets not quite cooled out yet.

She’s a little surprised when there’s a knock on her door. A knock is weird. It’s either radio silence or sirens blasting, usually. A global emergency or don’t even bother getting out of bed. Now would be a good time to ask JARVIS about the cameras outside her door. Unfortunately, she told Tony to remove both from her floor or else because she didn’t want an AI watching her every move. She likes having her room to herself. Besides, she doesn’t fully trust Tony.

Option one, stay in bed, don’t move, pretend to be asleep. On the other hand, it’s almost noon and she’s been awake for a while, so she might as well pick option two and go check it out. Her toes dig into the carpet as she slides out into the well-tempered room. She peers through the peephole, which she requested specifically because she’s an old-fashioned spy, and- shit. Is Barnes here to finish the job, after he seemed to have gotten sidetracked with her dancing last time? He looks uncomfortable- he has a tray with coffee and a bowl of something like porridge, a sandwich with sausage and something that looks like fat little syrniki. Alone. She really doesn't like this. But if he just wants to kill her, would he bother making syrniki? Probably not but she won't bet on it. She grabs her Glock, just in case, and fastens the chain, pulling the door open just a little bit, hiding behind it. He looks up. "Oh. Hey. Did I wake you?"

As long as she's behind the door, behind the chain, just her eyes peeking out, she should be safe. As long as he can’t reach in and grab her by the throat. She blinks sleepily, shaking her tousled hair out. "No, no. Is… everything alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," he returns, holding out the tray. "Just made you breakfast."

She grips the door harder, ready to slam it in his face. Absolutely not letting him in. "Oh, that's nice," she lies. "Uh, I'm not dressed, though. Where's everyone else?"

He blinks, micro expression of disappointment. "Oh. Uh, they went out, Fury had some emergency. They said they'd be fine without you, though, so you can rest."

Those idiots. "Okay, just- just put it down." She rubs her forehead exaggeratedly. "Thanks. I'll get ready and then I'll take it in."

He crouches down, putting the tray on the floor, crown of the head towards her. Her fingers clench around her Glock. She could shoot him in the head, right then and there, and not have to worry about him anymore. Steve would murder her, though. And she doesn't actually want to kill him, she'd rather find out what's going on with him and whether she can get him out of it. He looks up, too late. "Okay. I'll leave that here then."

"Yeah," she replies, already shutting the door. "Thanks."

She holds her breath, leaning against the door, until she hears the elevator go down.

Fuck. Think. Is this the beginning of his killing spree? Take her out and when the others come back, pick them off one by one? She definitely can't go down there. Of course, security cameras would catch it but that's not a guarantee he wouldn't do it, if today's the day. Too much risk. Think. She needs an excuse to stay up here.

She walks to her laptop, checking whether he actually left and made it downstairs, which he did, then rewinds until she can watch every little movement of him making her food. Her stomach churns. God, her porridge is going cold but it could also be poisoned. She watches, rewinds, zooms in until she's quite certain he put nothing in there. And those really appear to be syrniki, out of cottage cheese, eggs, flour. God, she's hungry, she hasn't eaten in a day.

She carefully opens the door, listening, peeking down both sides of the empty hallway, then quickly grabs the tray and carries it inside, coffee splashing over. The security cameras show him in the common area on a couch, staring into thin air, playing with what she hopes is his phone. The angle's not good. She grabs the coffee, lukewarm by now, and gulps it down.

Her phone pings and she sees that he's moved slightly, staring at the screen of his phone, thumb hovering over. It's indeed a text from him.  _ Hope I didn't burn the porridge. _

Does that mean… maybe. She didn't see it, though, and she's pretty sure she would have. Unless he switched the bowls later or- this is insane. He used to shoot people with rifles, stab them with knives, choke them with his metal arm. Poisoning is not his style and he wouldn't be good at it, nor at the sleight of hand part. She decides eating it is an acceptable risk and texts him  _ Nope. _

She eats the porridge first, stomach welcoming the food with another churn. Her phone pings again. He seems restless. Probably because she's not coming down like he thought she would.  _ Everything alright? _

Time for the excuse.  _ Yeah, just feel a little under the weather. I'd rather stay in my room today. _

She watches his reaction intensely. Shoulders slumping, fingers hovering, twitching. Hm. He types and her phone pings.  _ Mind if I come up then? _

Yes. Very much. Just let her eat her syrniki in peace.  _ Think I caught something. And still not decent. _

She sits back, watching the screen as she spoons her porridge. It's not burnt but rather cold, though that's obviously on her. He's gotten up, walking around inconclusively, a few steps here, a few steps there. Restless, nervous. She texts the Avengers group chat, only for active members, that they better be careful when they come back, just in case. She's got another message.  _ Just sit in front of your door. Need to talk to someone. _

Hm. Her door is solid, she's pretty sure he can't punch through. He really looks like he has a bad day, though that would make sense if today is the killing spree day. Well, she's still safe inside, so why not.  _ Sure, come up. _

She finishes the cold porridge and then hears the elevator doors open. Hm. She puts some sour cream on her syrniki, waiting. Gentle knock on the door. Oh, he’s trying again but she won’t slip up. “Just sit on the floor,” she calls out, mouth watering at the fatty little fried disk. “I’m doing the same.”

He drops against the door, by the sound of it. She gets on her feet quietly, peeking through the peephole, spotting his legs splayed out across the hallway. Good enough. She sits down smoothly, about to stuff the first syrnik in her mouth in its entirety. “Nightmares?”

There’s some mumbling she barely hears over her chewing. The syrnik isn’t half bad, cold but that’s less of a problem than with the porridge. She grins, licking her fingers. “Think you need to talk louder. The door is pretty heavy.”

He clears his throat. “Oh. Not really. Can’t really remember what I dreamt. Think it was bad, though.”

Yeah, she can imagine that. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

She thinks he laughs, or something like it. “Nothing. Just wanted to hear an actual human voice instead of the robot.”

“Mhm.” She eats another syrnik. “Don’t like television?”

“Nah.” He’s silent for a bit. “Guess I’m old-fashioned about that.”

“Didn’t have one back then?” she asks, smearing the remaining syrniki with jam.

“Never had money like that. What about you?”

She tilts her head. “Actually watched a lot of things in the Red Room, learning about American culture and all. Wasn’t leisure watching, though. Didn’t have a choice.”

“Anything you liked?”

She bites her lip, then chews on the next of the syrniki to delay answering. “Not really. It all felt very infantile. Gotta say, though, your syrniki are pretty good.”

He snorts. “Thanks. Didn’t think I’d get it right on the first try but they’re perfectly easy.”

Yeah, she watched him. “Did you try them?”

“Wasn’t feeling hungry today.” Oh, she knows that sort of downplaying. “But I’m pretty sure I tried them at some point. Just can’t remember.”

“Plenty of things you can’t remember,” she ventures.

“Sorry?”

“I said that must suck, remembering so little.”

Silence. “I thought you’d understand that.”

Oh. So he’s not pretending he knows nothing about her anymore. She rubs her eyebrow, pressing against the bone. “I’ve been out pretty long. Did freelance for years. It’s nicer when nobody fucks with your head.”

“Having something to fight for is also important, though. Other than money.”

They turn dark really quickly as soon as they’re alone. Or maybe that’s his bad mood. “It’s not about money. It’s about survival.”

“Oh yeah. Been there, too.”

She grins, picking up another syrnik. “Oh, really? Steve insists you’re a perfect pure creature who can do no wrong.”

“That’s  _ not _ \- He’s not saying that. But yeah, often feels like Steve is a little too optimistic about me. I don’t deserve that.”

She shrugs. “Steve is going to do Steve things. Not like he’s the only person on the planet whose opinion matters.”

“Whose opinion matters, then?”

“No one’s,” she replies, licking her fingers. “Everyone’s. Yours.”

He snorts quite loudly. “Wow, thanks. That’s really helpful.”

“Never promised you answers,” she returns. “Only talking. And eating your syrniki.”

* * *

Christmas comes around quickly and Stark decides spontaneously to throw a huge Christmas party, something about a charity and donations and public relations. Bucky doesn’t really understand much about that sort of thing. Stark’s girlfriend rolls her eyes and pulls the whole thing out of thin air complete with a giant Christmas tree, a guest list and a catering plan.

The thought of a charity gala with hundreds of strangers gives him cold sweat, though, so he talks to Steve and it turns out there’s a pre-party (whatever the fuck that is) with exactly no one who doesn’t live here. And at the actual party, he can come and go whenever he wants, no obligations. That sounds like a good arrangement, actually. And if the dress code requires him to wear a suit, well, then so be it. Definitely not the worst thing he’s ever done.

So he dresses up, puts his hair in a bun, heads down, stomach in knots. Stark gives a lengthy talk, everyone else interrupting with objections and corrections and telling him to hurry the fuck up. There’s plenty of booze already. Thor tries his hand at Christmas carols, with mixed results. Natasha is wearing a long, dark green dress, something like velvet, red lipstick- she looks great. He sits down next to her when the opportunity presents itself, heart beating in his ears. She’s nipping on something dark amber, eyes surveying the room where Stark is currently trying to convince Banner to pull apart a Christmas cracker. “You look beautiful.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth and she throws him a look. “Looks like you spiffed yourself up, too.”

He blushes like a schoolboy but thankfully, she looks away soon. She has little pearl studs that the candlelight plays in. “Already dreading it?” she asks casually.

He shrugs. “I don’t think it’s going to be that bad. But I could be wrong, of course.”

“We’ll see about that,” she says rather ominously.

He clears his throat, gathers his courage, reaches into his pocket. “Uh, I actually got you something.”

Her head turns sharply. “Oh, did you?”

He blushes again, licking his lips, staring down at the little red jewelry box. “Yeah. Uh, I hope you like it.”

She breaks into a grin, taking the box. “Mhm. Thank you.”

“Are you not going to open it?” he asks hesitantly.

She shakes her head, leaning towards him, voice turning into a whisper. “No. But I got you something, too.”

His heart jumps. “Really?”

She nods, face pretty close. “Close your eyes.”

Oh, great, that’s very calming. He bites his lip, forcing his eyes shut. Is he shaking? Feels like it. Certainly very warm. “Ready?” her voice asks.

He gulps and nods. He doesn’t feel anything. His mind races. Is this-

Searing pain shoots up his left arm.

* * *

The device seems to work. The metal plates of his left hand jerk to a stop, shoulder shooting up, his eyes rip open and stare at her with surprise, some pain, too. “Let’s  _ talk _ , shall we,” she suggests, leaning back, ready to jump if he makes a move. “The fuck are you actually doing here?”

Confusion, pain. He blinks nervously. “What do you- that  _ hurts _ .”

“Oh, shut up, you shot me twice, I didn’t bitch about that,” she returns, waiting for the second he slips up. “Are you working for someone? Personal vendetta?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he defends, starting to sweat, desperately trying to move the left arm. “Please turn it off.”

“Why did you do all that research on me, huh?” she hisses. “Run after me the whole fucking time, trying to catch me alone? Get rid of me so I can’t expose you? So you can deal with the others in peace?”

He blushes terribly, caught. Unfortunately, Steve across the room notices them. Quick. She grabs his hand before he can rip the device off. “Nono. You talk. Don’t make me hurt you.”

“Sorry,” he whispers.

That stuns her for a second, which is a dumb beginner’s mistake, and then Steve’s already stormed across the room, dragging her back from his poor innocent friend. “Nat,” he hisses. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Ask him!” she throws back, slapping his hands away. “Please. Ask him why he’s  _ stalking  _ me.”

Steve groans, facepalming. Clint comes sauntering over, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a drink, visibly amused. “What’s going on?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Natasha returns. “But he won’t tell me.”

Steve groans again. Clint smirks. “Oh, Tasha. Thought you’d have it figured out by now.”

She looks from one to the other and then to Barnes who’s visibly suffering, though that doesn’t seem to be from the arm-disabling device. “Figured what out?”

“He has a crush on you,” Steve mutters into his hand. “That’s why he’s  _ stalking _ you, if that’s what you want to call it. I promised not to tell you but, Jesus Christ.”

“Oh, come on,” she retorts in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it, though?” Clint remarks with amusement. “I think the expression you’re looking for is glaringly obvious. I mean, even Stark noticed and he’s so self-absorbed he can’t even remember the names of Pepper’s parents.”

Barnes is blushing furiously, which- oh. “No, no. What about the files? That’s no reason to stare at my mission reports for  _ hours _ .”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I think you’re exaggerating. And so what? You put them out there yourself. Can’t blame Bucky if he relates to that sort of thing.”

Well, in Steve’s book,  _ Bucky  _ can’t be blamed for anything- oh. Relates? No, no, no, don't get off track here. "The text messages. He texts weird things to weird numbers, at weird times. With weirdly high encryption. Tell me that's not suspicious."

"We got him a therapist," Steve replies. "That's also where he goes downtown, if you found that suspicious, too. And I didn't tell you because you seem to think he's batshit crazy, when you're the one who's really batshit paranoid."

Shit. “And the weapons, the knife in his locker-”

“Seriously?” Steve interrupts her, clearly at the end of his patience. “Coming from  _ you _ ?”

Shit. Her head is spinning. How could she misread the situation  _ so  _ bad? How could she miss - the following her around, always at a distance, the weird reserved way he had towards her, the ballet thing in the gym, him making her  _ breakfast _ \- she stares at Barnes who appears absolutely mortified. He got her a present and she got him - “Shit, I’m sorry.”

He clears his throat, still not looking at her. His face is burning red. “‘S okay. Could you - just turn it off.”

Right. God, how could she be so  _ wrong  _ \- she switches it off, plucks the device from his stiff metal hand, arm and shoulder relaxing instantly. He presses his lips together. She’s so sorry for him, guilt seeping- Steve grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him up, away from her. “You okay, Buck? Is your arm hurt?”

“Think it’s fine,” he mumbles, facing away from her, clenching his left fist. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Let’s get Tony,” Steve replies, throwing her a stern look and leading him away. “He should take a look at it, make sure nothing is damaged and hurting …”

Clint still seems very amused about this whole thing. She stares after them, baffled. She should be the one mortified. “How long have you known?”

Clint shrugs with one shoulder, sipping his drink. “For a while. I really thought you’d figure it out on your own.”

She’s too paranoid to see clearly. She’s literally going crazy. God. She presses her fingers to her nose, hands together, breathing into her palms. “Clearly not.”

“I mean, we  _ tried _ ,” Clint remarks. “But leaving you two home alone to talk it out clearly didn’t work. Stark was convinced the Christmas party was going to do the trick, and I guess it did, though probably not the way he imagined.”

“Wait, what?” Natasha interrupts. “That’s why he’s throwing this party?”

Clint nods towards the ceiling. “Have you even noticed the tons of mistletoe around? Guess we should take that down, before bad things happen.”

Shit. Jesus Christ. How can a person, let alone  _ her _ , be so oblivious? “Wow. That’s some strong-armed bullshit.”

“Not sure whether Stark had some plan to get you under it or just wanted to wait and hope,” Clint adds. “Well, whatever. Anyway, kind of nice to know you’re just as much of an idiot around these things as everyone else.”

She groans. “Not nice. I should go and apologize, really, that was rude of -”

“Yeah, if you want to get murdered by one of Cap’s stern looks,” Clint returns. “Wouldn’t recommend it. Want to open your present, though? I’m curious.”

Of course he is. She snorts, rubbing her face, not caring about the make-up smudging, then looks for the little red box she must have thrown somewhere. “Jesus Christ, I hope that’s not a ring.”

“I don’t think he’s  _ that  _ dumb,” Clint suggests. “But you never know. Come on, open it.”

She bites her lip and flips the velvet box open. Inside is a pendant in the shape of an hourglass, painted black with red edges. There’s a thin smooth chain as well, going through the ring at the top of the hourglass. It doesn’t look like a precious metal but not cheap either, and clearly custom-made. Oh shit. That time she thought he was waiting for his handler, at the jewelry store? “Fuck.”

“Mhm, personal, not overbearing, thoughtful, cute,” Clint remarks, peering in. “Guess that means you were being a real asshole.”

She certainly feels like it. “I didn’t get him  _ shit _ .”

“Tasha,” Clint suggests softly. “That seems like the smaller one of your fuck-ups.”

* * *

She’s sitting at the bar when he comes down, slightly hunched over her drink, rueful. He slips next to her. She acknowledges him with a slight nod. “Hope your arm is okay.”

“Yeah, nothing damaged,” he replies. “Steve overreacted, that’s all.”

She snorts, staring down her half-empty glass. “I’m sorry. That was … really, really stupid.”

“I acctually wanted to say that,” he ventures, finding it quite easy all of a sudden. “Sorry. For shooting you twice.”

She rolls her eyes, knocking the drink back. “Don’t try to make me feel better. I was being a real jerk to you.”

She has the necklace around her neck, as he now notices. “It’s not that big of a deal, really. But thank you.”

She clears her throat, trying to sound casual. “So, um, how long have you been, um, in love with me?”

“Not sure,” he admits. “I only realized it when I saw you dance. Uh, I get why that might have come across creepy.”

She squints at the now empty glass. “Yeah, I could have just asked, though. Without hurting you.”

He grins. “So you thought I wanted to kill you, huh? Wonder where you got that idea.”

“Oh, don’t make fun of me,” she returns, turning to face him. She’s still just as pretty, though she looks more worn now, lipstick faded, hair in slight disarray. “That’s not funny.”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he admits. “Well, that’s certainly not how I wanted it to go.”

She snorts again. “Oh, I imagine. Again, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he repeats. “Glad it came out, even in this way. Uh, would you like to dance? With me?”

She smirks, touching his shin with the tip of her shoe. “Seems like the least I could do, doesn’t it?”

Well, maybe they’re both absolute idiots but God, he loves her.

**Author's Note:**

> Of course I picked the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy! You can watch it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wz_f9B4pPtg (I think I started describing it around 0:44)


End file.
